Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2

by N. S. Wikarski

  A look of gloom crossed Olga’s face. “When the overlords invaded here, they persecuted shamans. It started with the Buddhist monks from Tibet—the Lamaists. They conspired with the Mongolian emperor and declared him to be the reincarnation of Genghis Khan to strengthen his claim to the throne. In exchange, he made Lamaism the state religion. On pain of death, shamans were forbidden to practice their rituals. They were still being burned alive by Buddhists as recently as the beginning of the twentieth century.”

  “That isn’t so very different from what happened in Europe during the height of the witch craze,” Griffin remarked. “Shamans and witches both work within a local community. In Europe, these practitioners undermined the spiritual authority of the Catholic Church. As we all know, overlord state religion and politics go hand in hand.”

  The scout continued. “Once religion was abolished by the Soviets you would think such persecution would have come to an end. But it did not. The Soviets feared the people of Siberia would never be loyal to the state as long as shamans held influence in the villages and towns. So the persecutions continued. Shamans who practiced public rituals had their tongues cut out and were sent to gulags. Some were murdered.”

  Olga smiled bleakly at her listeners. “At least the story has a happy ending. Since the fall of the Soviet Union, shamans everywhere have come out of hiding. Even though much of their sacred history has been destroyed, they perform rituals openly again. Some have even founded alternative healing centers. There are many shamans on the western shore of Lake Baikal. The eastern shore was taken over by the Lamaists long ago. The people are mostly Buddhists on that side.”

  “So, you think the Minoans may have entrusted the Sage Stone to a shaman somewhere near the lake?” Daniel asked. “Correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t Lake Baikal as big as our Lake Michigan?”

  “Not as big in terms of surface area,” Griffin chimed in. “But it is longer. Lake Baikal measures four hundred miles from end-to-end. It is the oldest, deepest lake in the world. By volume, it contains more water than all of the Great Lakes combined and is the largest fresh water source on the entire planet.”

  “That certainly seems like a huge area to search.” The scion sounded dismayed.

  “Oh, I think it will not be so bad,” Olga countered. “There is a place halfway up the western shore that has been considered sacred for thousands of years. We will go to Olkhon Island first—to Shaman Rock.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the area,” Cassie remarked.

  The scout shrugged. “I should. My family lives there. My mother is Buryat, and my father is from Belarus.”

  At that moment their orders arrived, and everyone transferred their attention to their food.

  Olga offered one final bit of advice as she picked up her fork. “You should rest as much as you can while we are on the train. Arriving in Irkutsk will only mark the beginning of our journey.”

  Chapter 28—Fresh Targets

  Leroy Hunt stood behind Metcalf and observed his employer fire several bullets at a target hanging ten feet away. The shots all clustered neatly around the heart.

  “You come a long way, boss,” the cowboy said approvingly.

  Metcalf lowered his weapon and assessed his handiwork. “With your help, Mr. Hunt.”

  Leroy thought back wryly to the previous week when they’d first started training. It had taken some wrangling to get the preacher to choose a gun he could actually manage. The old coot could barely stand on his own two feet, yet he was hankering to shoot a hand cannon. Metcalf demanded a Smith & Wesson 500 Magnum. The cowboy did his best to keep from laughing in the old man’s face, but he let him try it just to prove a point. The recoil from the first shot nearly snapped the preacher’s wrist off and knocked him ass over teakettle. After that humiliating experience, he was ready to listen to reason.

  As Hunt astutely pointed out, Metcalf didn’t need a gun that could stop a charging rhino. He needed something small and light that could do damage at close range. They eventually settled on a low recoil pocket pistol weighing less than two pounds. The addition of a laser sight made it easy enough for even a feeble old man to hit what he was aiming at. After a week of daily practice, Metcalf was now a competent enough marksman with his pea shooter to continue training on his own.

  “You given any thought to who you might be aimin’ that gun at?” Leroy hinted delicately.

  His question was met with a frosty glare. “You’re alluding to my son Joshua?”

  “Yessir. Like I told you before, that boy’s trouble with a capital T. Do yourself a favor and snuff him before he snuffs you.”

  The preacher shook his head. “Not yet, Mr. Hunt. My son has made no move to harm me. Besides...” He trailed off, apparently hesitating about how much information to share. “Joshua is still useful. He’s performing certain confidential tasks which can’t be entrusted to anyone else. The day may come when he outlives his purpose. Then I’ll decide what must be done.”

  Leroy grunted his assent, still not convinced that a “wait and see” attitude was the best course to take.

  The old man hobbled over to a seat behind the trainer’s desk.

  Hunt followed and sat himself down in the visitor’s chair. He was eager to get back to his primary mission of finding Mr. Big’s lair. “I expect you won’t need me here every day no more,” he ventured. “Time I went back to tailin’ that kid full time.”

  “Have you made any progress in that direction?” Metcalf asked.

  “A mite,” Leroy admitted. “Every day after we finish up here, I been drivin’ out to the boy’s house but he ain’t never around.”

  Metcalf frowned. “So, you haven’t been able to determine where he goes?”

  “No sir, I ain’t yet cuz I been trainin’ you every mornin’.” The cowboy’s tone held a note of reproach. “I did manage to chat up one of his buddies on Friday though. Turns out the kid took a summer job someplace. He wouldn’t tell nobody where he was goin’ or what he was doin’. That sounded fishy to me so’s I figure he’s doin’ odd jobs for Mr. Big. Tomorrow I’ll be at the kid’s house before first light. That way I can follow him out.”

  “An excellent idea,” Metcalf concurred, “but it will have to wait.”

  “What now?” Leroy couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. He felt like a bloodhound that had been abruptly hauled off the scent.

  “I have a more urgent matter for you to handle.”

  “Boss, I can’t fathom what’s more important than shuttin’ down Mr. Big.”

  “I fear Doctor Aboud is talking to people he shouldn’t.”

  It took the cowboy several seconds to connect the dots. He recalled the time Metcalf had sent him to follow the little foreign doctor into the city where he’d met with a shady Russian, and some sort of deal had been struck. The next time Leroy saw the doctor was in the preacher’s office with the thief named Erik. Since Hunt had never been told what the doc was up to, he stared at Metcalf blankly, waiting for further clarification.

  The old man apparently realized full disclosure was necessary. “I’m sure you know that the Nephilim have many enemies in the Fallen World.”

  The cowboy nodded uncertainly.

  “I commissioned Doctor Aboud to create a biological weapon to protect us from those enemies. He was also charged with creating a vaccine to protect any Nephilim who might come into contact with this biological agent.”

  “I’m with you so far, boss.”

  “It seems that the good doctor has fallen victim to the deadly sin of greed. I suspect that he intends to sell both the biological agent and the vaccine on the black market.”

  “Gotcha.” Leroy could finally see all the pieces falling into place.

  “No matter how urgent our need to vanquish the organization the thieves work for, this matter is more urgent still. Doctor Aboud is nearing completion of his work for me which means he will shortly be in a position to sell his creations to the worl
d.”

  “Likely to the Russian I seen him with,” Hunt concluded.

  “Most probably,” Metcalf agreed.

  “You want me to take care of the whistlepig now?” Leroy rose to leave.

  The old man squinted at him, perplexed.

  “Sorry, boss. That’s what I call the little doc. You want I should shoot him for you?”

  “Not quite yet. His work for me is at a critical stage, and I wouldn’t like to see it interrupted. For now, you are to follow him to confirm that my suspicions are correct. Should he meet this mysterious Russian again, find out who the fellow is and what he does for a living.”

  “And then what?”

  Metcalf steepled his hands together, considering the question. “Bring me proof that I’m right about the doctor and his friend. Then I’ll allow you to follow your natural inclinations.”

  Chapter 29—Cut It Out

  Hannah glanced at the clock on the wall and braced herself. It was almost time for one of Mother Rachel’s regular visits. Every few days or so, the matron appeared at this hour with another book of diviner sermons under her arm to harangue Hannah about how she ought to behave. It was amazing the number of deceased diviners who formed opinions on the topic of proper wifely conduct. Of course, given that they were all polygamists, the subject was probably uppermost in their minds.

  The girl snapped to attention when she heard someone outside the door. Usually, Mother Rachel at least made a pretense of knocking before she barged in. Not today. The matron entered wordlessly, locked the door behind her and walked to the center of the room. She wasn’t carrying any books for a change.

  A look at her visitor’s face told Hannah something was off. For starters, Mother Rachel wasn’t staring at her disapprovingly. The matron’s characteristic sharp gaze seemed vague and unfocused. She looked through Hannah rather than at her, as if listening to ghostly voices. Hannah dutifully went to sit in her armchair and waited for Mother Rachel to lecture her for the next hour.

  The matron remained transfixed. When she spoke, it was as if the words were being dictated from beyond. Her voice rose barely above a murmur. “The Lord tells us: ‘If thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched.’ What could be plainer than that? And he also says: ‘If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.’ It’s all spelled out in black and white. Everything is so clear when you read the Bible.”

  She finally turned to glance at Hannah, as if realizing for the first time that the room had a second occupant. The girl assumed her usual bland facial expression.

  This seemed to irritate Mother Rachel because some of her old tartness came back. “Still silent, are we?”

  Hannah tried to look baffled by the comment.

  “I could read to you until I’m blue in the face and it wouldn’t make any difference. Your heart is hardened against salvation. My husband deludes himself if he thinks he can ever win you back.”

  The girl began to feel uneasy.

  The old woman advanced and stood over her. “The Lord told me what must be done. I am his instrument. Once I’ve broken your evil spell over him, Abraham will understand.”

  Mother Rachel reached into her apron pocket and drew out a butcher knife.

  Hannah froze in terror for a moment until she saw the blade sweep downward. She jumped aside and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  ***

  Erik was sitting in his room reviewing the notes from his last conference call with Maddie. He vaguely registered the murmur of a female voice through the wall and concluded that Mother Rachel must be sermonizing Hannah for the umpteenth time. Suddenly, and without warning, he heard an ear-piercing shriek.

  The paladin leaped to his feet. “Hannah!” He shouted. “Hannah, are you alright?”

  He heard a heavy object fall and then another scream.

  “She’s trying to kill me!”

  He hoped whoever was in there had left the door unlocked, but he’d break it down if he had to. His eyes searched for a convenient weapon, but they fell on the intercom phone instead. He pressed the button. When a female voice answered, he said, “Send help right away. Somebody is in Hannah’s room. They’re trying to hurt her. Get here quick before it’s too late.”

  The receiver dropped. He assumed the person on the other end of the line was running to the guest quarters.

  He could hear more shouts and screams coming from the adjoining chamber.

  Erik pounded on the wall. “Hannah, help is coming. Hang on!”

  He grabbed the key to his own locked room and raced for the door.

  ***

  Hannah ducked out of the way as Mother Rachel slashed at her again. The matron seemed too deeply immersed in her delusion to even notice Erik’s shouts from the adjoining room.

  The girl knew her rescuer was on the way, so all she had to do was keep out of the range of that blade.

  Mother Rachel was now muttering wildly to herself about blood atonement. Hannah could guess all too easily whose blood she meant to spill. Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah could see the doorknob turning. Erik was testing the lock, but the door remained shut. The girl backed against the wall between her nightstand and dresser.

  The matron bore down on her, a triumphant gleam in her eye now that her quarry had been cornered.

  All of a sudden, a loud thud came from the other side of the room. It was Erik trying to break down the door.

  Mother Rachel paused in confusion. She appeared to be struggling to sift out the difference between the voices in her head and noises coming from outside. She turned aside and looked toward the opposite end of the room to identify the source of the sound.

  That diversion was all Hannah needed. In one swift motion, the girl gripped the metal handle of her nightstand drawer. She yanked out the drawer and swung it as hard as she could at the back of Mother Rachel’s head. The Bible and Jedediah Proctor’s Revelations went flying across the room. The old woman fell forward with such force that her forehead bounced off the floor. After that, she lay still. The girl swooped down and reached into Mother Rachel’s apron pocket for the key to her prison. She was about to make a run for it when she heard another thud as Erik’s shoulder rammed the other side of the door.

  “Hannah, answer me! Are you alright? I can hear somebody running this way to help you.”

  “I’m OK, Erik. Get back to your room before they realize you’re out.”

  Without another word, he slipped back to his own quarters. Hannah heard his door shut only seconds before a female voice rounded the corner and shouted down the hallway. “Sister Hannah! Sister Hannah!”

  The girl caught herself in time and remembered she was supposed to be mute. Jumping over Mother Rachel, she ran to the door and pounded from the inside. Then she slipped the stolen key into her own pocket.

  “Hold on. I’m coming.” Sister Ruth, the consecrated bride who brought her meals, burst into the room.

  Hannah didn’t need to say anything. The matron lying face down on the floor with a knife gripped tightly in her hand told the whole story.

  “She attacked you?” Sister Ruth asked in disbelief.

  Hannah nodded and lifted up the fabric of her sleeve. There was a slash mark on it and a spattering of blood on the girl’s arm.

  “Oh, my Lord!” Sister Ruth gasped. “Sister Hannah, you come with me.” She took the girl by the hand. “We’re going to the diviner immediately.”

  Hannah gestured quizzically at Mother Rachel.

  “Don’t you worry about her. We’ll lock her inside until the security men come to take her away.”

  The girl hugged her rescuer. The two exited the room, leaving a groaning, semi-conscious Mother Rachel imprisoned behind them.

  ***


  Abraham stood in the doorway of his principal wife’s quarters. He watched as two men in white coats lifted her from her bed onto an ambulance stretcher. They began to apply restraints to her hands and feet along with straps to secure her torso and legs.

  Turning to a wizened man at his elbow, the diviner asked in a low voice. “Will she be alright, doctor?”

  The Fallen psychiatrist shrugged and whispered his reply so as not to be overheard by his attendants. “I gave her a strong sedative. We won’t know for a day or two, but I’d guess she had some sort of psychotic break. You say she attacked another of your wives with a knife?”

  The diviner nodded grimly. “She claims God told her to do it—that a blood sacrifice was required to redeem the Blessed Nephilim. Mother Rachel apparently decided that the sacrifice ought to be my youngest wife, Hannah. Who knows why? The girl is sequestered and recovering from emotional problems of her own. This will set back her recovery by weeks if not months.”

  “Do you want me to examine her?” the doctor offered. “Prescribe a tranquilizer?”

  Abraham sighed. “That won’t be necessary. She seemed subdued after the attack but was responsive to questions. I think the fewer strangers she encounters right now, the better.”

  “How do you want us to handle this situation?” The doctor’s eyes slid to the stretcher where his men were still in the process of securing Mother Rachel.

  “Standard procedure,” Abraham whispered back. “Sedate her for a few weeks then see if she behaves more rationally.”

  “My asylum will soon need a new wing to house the mentally-disturbed wives of the Blessed Nephilim,” the doctor observed dryly.